


Donald Hump; The Greatest Male Stripper Ever

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., trump - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Backstory, Blow Jobs, Crubio, Donald being a sassy bitch, Donald being an arse, Donimir, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Humor, Implied Relationships, M/M, Oral Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Trence, Underwear Kink, delania, trush, truz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So this was an idea I got after reading "The Billionaire and The Bellboy". I know I am trash. Also, side note this was written by a Russian so.... Putin, hon, we all know the reason you are against the gays is because you are one, it's clearer than the semen your dying to lick off a hot male bod. Every Russian knows this.Back to the story description, this is a story that is not true but everyone wishes was. Hope you enjoy.P.s there might be mistakes of grammatical/ spelling type. I am only human, fucked up, but human no less.





	1. This Is The Story of Donald Hump

**Author's Note:**

> So this first chapter is a prep I guess, just some shit to get you hyped.
> 
> This is trash, poorly written. (Guess since its being written from Donald POV that makes sense, oooooooo damn. Gotta get some ice. Smh like five seconds ago I was writting a analistic essay about Greek myth...)

Donald Trump, you know him, I know him, everybody knows him. Not like this though. Donald Trump is famous for his show The Apprentice and being a total dick, but not for the story I'm going to tell you. In the deep dark truck stops of Wyoming a new Donald was born, a Donald unlike any other our small minds could ever understand. The Donald who shook his voluptuous ass and stripped down , showing off his sexy spray tanned bod. Wearing nothing but a smile made for a duche was when he truly won America's heart. Under the name Donald Hump, Donald's hips never lied, and his passion to make America great again never died. One sexual air hump at a time, he was blessing America more than god ever could. This is the story of the greatest man on earth, no calling him a man isn't enough. He was far more than a man, he was the goddamn Jesus of slooty behavior. He was the Patrick Swayze of dirty dancing. His story shall not go untold, and I shall share it, making your lives much less shitter, like a reverse of Donald's effect on simple minded southerns.

This is the story of a god. This is the story of Donald Hump.


	2. This Is The American Dream, This Was Donald's American Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the beginning.... In the comments tell me if I got some of his college stuff wrong, besides the whole stripper thing, most of this shit I got off Wikipedia, so...

Donald J. Trump was born June 14 1946 in queens New York. He was raise in New York as well. Then he moved to Pennsylvania, to attend Wharton School of The University of Pennsylvania, were he earned his bachelor's degree in economics. Then he soon got his small loan of one million dollars and was on his way to the top, ironically so since Donald was an obvious power bottom. The almost alien like creature was shady on the streets but freaky in the sheets. He dreamed every night of showing his slooty, unkept body to the male truckers of the world. To have his thin potato chip like hair whip sweat and a mixture of body oil and self tanner as he did sexy drops on the pole of the strippers. Little did Donald know his dreams would soon come true. 

Donald travel for a bit after college, checking out the lower, poor people, scouting out the people he'd soon be giving grade a, boner inducing lap dances to. His crusty, almost desert like mouth water at the thought of it. He practiced his hip rolls and orgasm noises till he fell asleep. He'd grind any chance he got, making his sexy edge sharp enough to kill a man. Donald was so obsessed with his erotic dance moves he cried in frustration whenever he messed up, which was never. He was a sex indicating machine, all oiled up and ready to ride. (Quite literally) He finally made his way to Wyoming, were the Jersey shore washed up version of double o'seven had the chance to let his fireworks shoot across the sky. Because baby he was gonna make em' go uh uh uh. He strutted into the strip club sassily as he found the manger. 

"Excuse me dummy! I'm Donald and I'm gonna huge!" He sassed in his overly stereotypical homosexual voice. The mangers eye racked over the oddly tall, strangely colored man. He smiled as Donald started swaying his narrow, white boy hips. Donald was showing him the goods, and the manger wasn't looking to embargo. 

"Damn you're fine son. I'm Steve. Welcome to Hella Horny my dear." The manger announced, eyes still lingering on Donald's boyish build. Steve went to grab Donald's baloney barb like butt cheek, to feel the flatness of Donald's untoned ass. Donald slapped his hand away. 

"Don't check out what you can't buy, and honey you can't afford me.." Donald smirked. Steve had a full hard on, but didn't let that get the best of him. 

"You start Monday. Bring a thong and your banging bod." Steve groaned at the concealer lacking man. 

"Damn straight." Donald answered and walked away, swaying his hips, creating enough friction to start a fire. 

This is the american dream. This was Donald's American dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone notice how Donald refuses to wear concealer to patch up under his eyes, were the spray tan is not present? Like if I was his adviser I would move on that shit like a bitch.


	3. Before He was America's Sweet Heart, He Was America's Sweet Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald growing in fame, lets be honest, if Donald was a stripper what have described of him is dead ass.

Before He was America's Sweet Heart, He Was America's Sweet Ass

Donald had been working at the club for a couple months now and everyone with entranced by his rocking bod, and his electric moves. Everybody asked for him, even the straight males. Donald had the Gay Carlos effect on people. Even with dry ass crippled blonde hair, and crinkly orange skin that made him look like a Prada bag on crack, he still danced his way into people's hearts. With a flick of his wrist and a sway of his thin boyish hips he had ever one on their knees faster than a two cent ho outside a Mickey-D's on a Tuesday night. Steve, the owner, had taken much notice to The Donald Demand, and the Trumplings, which were what his fans were known as.

"Hey Donny." Steve said with a pat on the booty to the famous dancer.

"Ugh, what do you want Steve?" Donald responded with the sass that had grabbed Steve's affection in the first place.

"What will you be doing over the weekend, since you have your break?" Steve asked casually, preparing himself mentally to ask Donald out for a coffee or something.

"Avoiding creeps like you." Donald's words had gotten Steve shook once they left his mouth. It was like an earthquake had hurricane Matthew'd its way into his soul, destroying what little self-confidence he had left. Steve nodded back his tears, and strolled away from the golden goddess, wishing he had just pulled the trig that one night at his ex-girlfriend's dead brother's apartment. Donald did a Miley Cyrus 'The Climb' head turn, feeling a little guilty about denying Steve. He shook it off like Taylor Swift and continued dressing into the business suit he only wore now. 

He smiled at his presentable appearance, while doing the zoo lander face and completely pulling it off, because he was Donald J. fucking Trump.The duché induced, Russian mafia suit brought out the asshole in Donald. The suit was bought by his friend and longtime lover Vladimir Putin, but to Donald he was known as Sasha. Donald got the orgasmic feels whenever he thought of his beautiful makryotshka. With his flush skin, and his hard cold eyes, nothing got him harder. All those lay nights talking about world domination, all the money baths they shared. That's why Donald couldn't accept Steve's offer. Donald was in love with Vladimir. Everything about Vlad was the exact opposite of Steve. Steve got the frappachinos with whip cream and shit, while Vlad drank black coffee no matter how hot. Steve played tennis and Vlad rode horses shirt-less like a boss. 

Donald giggled as he realized he was picturing his dear friend shirt-less again, but who couldn't. The way the Vlad's muscles flexed as he took control of the Stallone made Donald's crotch ache. Donald's hand found his clothed crotch and when a groan slipped from his crusty lips, he noticed that Steve had returned and was watching intently.

"Fuck off Steve, I don't like you!" Donald grumbled and headed out the door, giving an aberrational nod to the Bouncers and a girl throwing up heroin and strawberry milkshake flavored pop tarts. He smiled while throwing his half empty Starbucks cup at an unconscious homeless man, because he's an asshole. A beautiful, sexy, wanted by the world asshole. 

"Hmm... " Donal whispered into the dark night, slightly illuminated by worn down street lights. He shook his head, and shoved his hands into the silky pockets of his custom made jacket.

He finally made it to his home and opened up his huge ass apartment, the one paid for with the small loan of one million dollars. The loan had also paid for his huge thong collection. Vlad was a kinky fucker. He hummed as he glanced at the many naked paintings of him that hung on the narrow wall that were made of Chinese steel. Guess you could say the power of being the worlds greatest stripper had gone to his head, but not the one on this shoulders. He felt like the goddamn president of the United States; he felt untouchable. One thing was bringing him the unhappy vibes though. Donald couldn't quite put a finger on it. Was it the fact he ate Jimmy's sandwich? No that mother fucker didn't need another sandwich. Was it because he turned down Steve? Donald rolled his eyes at the absurd idea that he felt sorry for anyone. The orange man yawned and quickly dashed up the stairs, ready for his jerk-off session and a goodnights sleep. Being adored was hard work, an it left him exhausted. Donald dreamed about the dance he would preform the next day and the dollar bills he would be rolling in. A grin creeped up on his moister lacking face as he thought more of his a boring fans. 

Before He was America's Sweet Heart, He Was America's Sweet Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gay Carlos is my friends and my own little inside joke...


	4. The King Of America Wins Hugely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT the end, no matter what is say, this will never be the end. I will write more, no worries. Maybe a detailed three way between Mike, Donald, and Vlad? Maye, who knows..... (Maye being slang for maybe, it will catch on)

*Many years of absolute fuckery later* 

Donald was stilling at his oval office, doing some very important paper work (drawling his daughter in das nude, with sun rays coming from her down under, because Donald was classy like that). Though it was hard for him to concentrate being that Ted Cruz (or teddy as Donald likes to call him) was giving him the worse bj in the history of oral sex. Usually the son of a Canadian woman would come in looking to kiss up and Donald would tell him how ugly his wife was, laugh and teddy would be running out crying. Once Cruz was dealt with, Donald would write angry tweets at all the people who never believed him, because now he was the president and that behavior is one hundred percent appropriate. 

@daddydonald I hate you, dad! You said I would never be a winner but kiss my pancake ass, I won motherfucker!

Many people didn't like that Donald had become the ruler of the free world, but screw them, their probably illegal anyways. Donald had everything he could ever want, but somehow felt the sad feels. Was it because he wasn't strutting his glorious body around on the pole? Was it because his tiny hands could not grab enough pussy? Donald didn't know, but when you're the king of America feelings can be entertained by your peasant civilians kissing your ass (some time more literally than metaphorically if you get what I'm saying). Also, feelings were for womanless stupid heads. 

The fucking end mates, the fucking end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me if you have anything you'd like me to write. I am open for ideas.


	5. Tit over Arse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is something I typed up quickly.

Donald sat with much boredom at his dinner party. He had a room full of people begging him to talk, to explain his actions, to do something. However, there he sat, bored and feeling quite lonely. He did not want to talk, he just wanted to have one nice meal, preferable alone, but it looked like that was not an option anymore. He understood he fucked up, and hell, if he didn’t people were more than willing to tell him. All he wanted was a hot bath, ben and jerry’s ice cream, and to cry. Why was he sad? Because he dropped bombs on Syria and probably started a war with North Korea? No. He was sad because within doing those two things, he had most likely ended his relationship with his dear Vladdie poo. 

He hated ever second of every moment that passed because he was not spending it with Vlad. Maybe this was fate; maybe he never deserved him anyways. Vlad was strong, overbearing and quite an arseloch but so was Donald, and in that, they were perfect. His partner, threw Donald to the side like trash, and was ignoring him. 

Donald looked around the room; talking in the reality his actions had real consequences now. His seventy-year-old arse could no longer fuck over whomever he pleased. He had to think, to plan things. That was what scared him the most. The whole world was watching him, and though he loved the attention because he was a die-hard attention whore, it was frightening. 

Watching his fellow mates interact at the dinner table reminded him that he was the king, and he had let his kingdom down. His eyes landed on Mike Pence, who sat uncomfortably next to Sean Spicer. Mike looked almost as upset as Donald felt. Donald suddenly felt the urge to make sure he was okay. 

“Maybe Spicy’s excessive aggressiveness is freaking him out...” Donald thought, thinking of if he should get Spicer to shut the fuck up. It honestly would not be the first time; bitch never knew when to stop. 

“Hey Sean, are you a part of black lives matter?” Donald asked, making all the chatter from the guests stop. Everyone looked at Donald, and Spicer gulped loudly. 

“No sir.” Sean answered timidly. 

“Then why the fuck are you acting like a savage? Jesus Christ, you are freaking out poor Mikey.” Donald scolding, watching for Pence’s reaction carefully. Mike sighed, taking a deep breath as his cheeks turned a bright scarlet. Donald then, noticed how gorgeous he was. His strong jaw line, flawless skin and snowy hair made Donald’s groin ache. 

“Sorry sir.” Spicy mumbled into his napkin, spitting out his gum. Donald nodded to himself and looked over to his wife then to his daughter. They didn't seem to be suspicious of why he suddenly gave two fucks for Pence. Good, that was good. Less they knew the better. 

The dinner soon ended and people started filing out. Melania left to go back to trump tower and Ivanka went to be with her husband. That left only Donald and Pence. Donald went to move on him like a bitch. Smooth as hell. He strolled over to Mike, smiling as the other man fiddled with his jacket. 

“Hey.” Donald whispered, making Mike shiver. Donald placed his hand on pence’s lower back, making the man jump. Pence turned his head, so that it was only centimeters from Donald’s. It took one second before they mashed their faces together. Donald grabbed ahold of pence tight ass and he jammed his tongue down the other man’s throat. Pence hungrily wrapped one leg around Donald’s waist. Bottom huh. Donald smirked at the thought of having Mike Pence withering underneath him. On the other hand, maybe he would have Pence ride him, make little Mikey work for it. Before Donald could slam Pence onto the table and take him like a pageant girl, the door slammed open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am teasing the fuck out of this mate. Harder than Donald's dick when anything happens.


	6. Spitrence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

Mike felt his heart beat out of his chest, he had been caught. He looked over towards Donald, who did not seem to be bothered. Pence finally gain the balls to look towards the door, hoping it was not his wife. 

There stood Sean, ah him. That motherfucker. Mike thought of all the naughty words his innocent Christian brain could think of. Stupid, ninny, retard. Mike rolled his eyes as Sean refused to fucking leave. What did this shagwit want? 

“We’ll, what’s going on here?” Spicy said, going to grab his phone, which was the reason he came back into the room. He looked questionably between the two men. Mike's face was red and his lips were swollen. Donald's hair was slightly messed up and his suit crumpled between Mike's shaking hands. Were they fighting? Donnie he could imagine fighting, whore had a temper. Not Mikie though. He was like a quiet, low-key asshole. A closeted asshole. They one who trolled people in the YouTube comments, and would never fight if confronted in real life. 

"You like dick? Spicy?" Donald said, in his highly uneducated voice. Sean furrowed his eyebrows at the question. What the fuck? 

"I have a wife and so do you guys." He said, feeling extremely uncomfortable. This feeling wasn't new. Everyone was uncomfortable around Donald, the feeling was just illuminated in the moment. Mike looked down as his classy dress shoes. Always dressed to oppress. Was this why Mike was sure an arse to women? Because he didn't like them? Spicer brain felt as though it had exploded from all the information he was getting. 

Donald shot him a demanding look, telling him to come a little closer. Sean looked at his feet as he shuffled forward. He was straight! He had a wife! But, like most things, Donald didn't give a fuck. He was getting what he wanted to matter what. He was bloodly president of the united States.


	7. Shut the fuck up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back

Donald was admiring his kingdom, oh wait never fucking mind. That's what he wanted to be doing but, snowflake Mc-cuckington right here had some safe space inducing bullshit to talk to him about. He rolled his eyes, ordering everyone out of the room. The tall, lanky man looked a bit uncomfortable but that was just a natural, chemical reaction to Donald, like how your skin burns off when acid is poured on it. 

"What ya want?" Donald asked, grabbing another chicken leg from his huge as bucket of chicken that had some kkk grand wizard or some shit on it. 

"Um, there's some tapes that-" 

"Oh, my gawd. It's fucking baker isn't it." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Little cunt, I didn't even know her. Sure I'm mean I did tell her to kill herself but I'm mean how was I to know... ya know? Left wing, cocksucking, society cancer babies." 

"I don't... I don't understand." 

"Hannah baker?" 

"Sir, that's a television show." 

"Well, a whores a whore." 

"Right, well that's why I'm here." 

"Hmmmmmmmm, okay." Donald shoves a whole chicken down his throats because gag reflexes are for betas. Donald wondered what betas were. He had only heard bill o'really talk about them, but eh. Bill talks about a lot stuff. 

"There are tapes of Russian prostitutes peeing on you." 

"Oh, that all?" Donald licked the grease off his finger, moaning like a whore. Damn, he needs some weed. NOT THAT ANYONE ELSE CAN HAVE ANY. WEED IS DONALD'S, NOBODY ELSES SO STEP DOWN BITCH. HIS ONLY. Donald purses his lips, he knew that troll like fuck was taking his weed, he was way too relaxed all the time. What was that guy's name? Keebler? He looked like the cookie, tree guy.... hmmm

"Sir, are you not concerned?" Cumey said. Yeah, cumey, new nickname, check. 

"Not really." Donald took his phone out. He had a lot of people to tell that he hopes that they win the lottery and get hit by a dildo, get run over by a car and go to the hospital before they can cash the check, then slowly die from lack of Medicare. Yeah, Obama-the-llama-Muslim-mofo- that's shit gone. Should've thought twice before you made fun of the Donald. Also should've thought twice before being born in Africa or wherever. 

"Well, I guess I'm going...." 

"Well, I'm sure as shit not inviting you to stay. Now go write in your diary, or whatever you people do."

"The FBI?" 

"Yeah, those guys." James choked on reality, felt tears prickle his eyes as he realised this was he life now. Damn.


	8. Eses Pinches, Bad Hombres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listened to "ispy" by kylie and the opening dialogue made me think about Ted Cruz, so va-la

You know that table in the lunch room when you were in high school? That fucking table NOBODY would go near because it was social cancer? That table that was by the trash cans, so the outcasted kids would feel closer to home? Yes? Good then you'll understand this little tail's background perfectly. No? Well good for fucking you, you lucky bastard. 

There, at 'the trash table' aka Chik'fila, sat Marco 'that bad hombre that gets your mum wetter than Huston, Texas after Harvey ' Rubio, Ted 'Zodiac Killer'Cruz, Jeb 'not George' Bush, and Mike 'if you pushed me hard enough I'd roll for eternity, which is how long your soul will burn you faggot!' Huckabee. They all meet, every week, at Chik'fila. It was a healing thing. They've all been fucked over by trump, all get the naum flashbacks to having to deal with that ass with ears. It 'twas the trash table with a cause. What was that cause you ask? To bitch like a house wife this close to losing her shit at your rich family's Christmas party. 

"Ted, you okay?" Mike asked, noticing how he other man was looking a bit down. Not that mike really cared. Nobody really liked Ted, they just hung around to wait out and see if he'd have a melt down. It would be great if it happened, mike could videotape it... you know, so in case he ever found his dick again, he could jerk off to it. 

"Man, gosh darn it." 

"Todo está bien?" Marco asked, in his burrito language. 

"Marco, Estos pinches chicos... they're making fun off me, talking crap and making me feel bad." Ted said glumly, as if anyone gave the littlest of fucks. Well, Marco did. Yeah, I know, Dilf number 1 had the hots for Ted. Trump being president wasn't the only mind bottling thing. No sir-y. 

"That's horrible, are they calling you a mass murderer again?" Marco asked, petting his pet. Jeb rolled his eyes at the scene before him. He didn't have as much as a problem with the homosexuals as Mike did, yeah both pence and Huckabee. Damn, must be something with the name.... He didn't give a rat's booty-hole what people chose to do with their genitalia. 

"No, I accidentally liked some incest porn on Facebook." Ted cried, weeping all over his Jesus chicken. 

"Seriously? You go to Facebook for porn when you have that sex god?" Jeb asked, utterly exasperated. "Seriously, I'm not gay, but gosh-darny-darn. That's one man you've caught." 

"Uh, thanks." Marco turned his attention back to his crying lover. He ran his fingers threw Ted's slicked back hair. 

"Disgusting..." Mike mumbled... siping his tea like the judgement bitch he was. 

"I'm sorry? I don't think I asked you to tell me what your wife says after you two make love." Rubio snapped, shutting that ho down. 

"Everybody's gonna think I'm a deviant..." Cruz whaled. 

"Little to late for that buddy." Rubio said. Honestly, Rubio could say he liked fucking cow shit and people would still like him. Why? Because he was fucking gorgeous. Ted... yeah, let's just say the same rules didn't apply to Ted. 

"Look at us... were like leftouts... nobody wants us." 

"Hey, speak for yourself." Marco said, glaring at Jeb. Fuck Jeb, little daddy issues having biyotch. Marco never liked him, maybe because he was fucking Jeb. And nobody likes a 'Jeb'. 

"Is this what irrelevance feels like?" Jeb asked... looking around. Ha, like he didn't already know what irrelevance felt like. Irrelevancy was practically the whole bases of Jeb's life. 

And there they sat. Ted crying over his ruined reputation, Marco rubbing his back, saying nice spanish shit in his ears, Jeb wondering how he will end everything and Mike... thinking about how many more pieces of diabetes chicken that he has to eat to see Jesus. And Jesus, hoping to fuck that Mike never figures out how many bites it takes to get to the centre of mortality.


End file.
